844 days, 20,256 hours, 1,215,360 minutes, or 72,921,600 seconds. That is the approximate duration of my world tour. I never wanted it to end and now, in a manner of speaking, I suppose it never has to. If you wish to go by country do so by clicking on one above. They are numbered in the order I visited them, more or less. If you enjoy reading about it even a tenth as much as I enjoyed living it then you will not have wasted your time. Grab a refreshing beverage, settle in a comfortable chair, and make a journey across the world, experiencing it as I did. Then get off your ass and check it out for yourself. You're not getting any younger.

Hill Country (Chittagong Hill Tracts, Bangladesh)

Feb
4th, 2010- A autorickshaw ride from hell and an overnight
bus on Bangladesh's sketchiest highway left me in Chittagong at 6 am.
For some reason if you pay for an aircon coach you get it no matter
what...even if it is cold outside. It is almost as if the engine and
the aircon are inextricably linked. They do hand out blankets so I am
not sure what my problem is.

At
3:30 am we made a rest stop at a restaurant for a snack and potty
brake. I stood in the bathroom at this early hour awestruck at what I
saw, a man at every sink primping himself like he was a contestant on
the dating game. Not a hair could be out of place and the efforts
being put forth were almost surgical in nature. Did I mention it was
3:30 am? I am pretty much a scumbag in this country with my single
pair of black pants, dusty hiking shoes, and a complete refusal to
comb my hair…..ever. Folks sometimes stare me up and down as if I
am wearing a spacesuit. I can never tell if it is curiosity, mild
contempt, or both.

As I
stood in the restaurant a barefoot waiter offered to bring me
something. I went with a coffee. It soon followed with my receipt.
You get a receipt for everything here, even a 15 cent Nescafe.

Twice
on this ride a man holding a large video camera followed by another
gentleman with a light entered the bus to film the passengers while
we sat there with vapid looks on our faces. I have no idea why this
happened. Maybe they were doing a promotional video. Perhaps that
fueled the primping frenzy I witnessed. Who the hell knows? I was
half asleep anyway. Kind of hard to sleep when Mr. Bus Driver Guy is
honking his horn every ten seconds or so. Not even Valium could
sedate me through that. I am not sure even heavy narcotics would have
done the trick.

After
arriving in Chittagong I hopped on a rickshaw to my next bus station.
I had a not-so-near-theft experience. While I sat on the back of the
rickshaw (bicycle taxi) some douchebag made a swipe at my bag as he
sped past in the back of an autorickshaw. Apparently, this is not an
unfamiliar technique although it was my first experience with the
phenomenon. He had no chance of success as I had a firm hold on my
pack but it was a bit unsettling as I did not see it coming. There is
a very high likelihood that my rickshaw driver was in on it as is
usually the case. Pricks.

So I
stuffed myself into another local bus and made my way towards
Bandarban, a town located in an area in eastern Bangladesh known as
the Chittagong Hill Tracts. This region is home to about half of
Bangladesh's tribal population, many of which originated in present
day Myanmar. The chance to encounter these people and the lure of
some hiking opportunities are what drew me to the area.

Permission
is required to enter the region which I obtained in Dhaka. My first
test came on the bus ride from Chittagong to Bandarban. There was a
military checkpoint at which I was required to sign in. They didn't
even look at my papers. First hurdle overcome.

When I
arrived in Bandarban I flagged an autorickshaw and headed to my
lodging, Hillside Resort ('resort' being a loose term). Basic, but
more than adequate. It was here I planned my excursion farther into
the hills. It would entail another bus followed by a boat ride to the
village of Ruma Bazar. One night there and then a 3-4 our hike to
Boga Lake the next day followed by another hike the succeeding day to
B'desh's highest point, Mt.
Keokradong. I was to have two guides, one from Bandarban to Ruma
and then another from Ruma to Boga Lake and Keokradang.

Need some dental work?

The
bus ride was the usual bumpy dust fest that entailed me stuffing
myself into a seat designed for pygmies. The boat ride, however, was
a welcome change and involved a slow float on a narrow wooden boat
pushed through the shallow waters by a pole bearing boatmen.

Ruma
Bazar is not the most congenial of villages, but this is pretty much
par for the course in Bangladesh. It is a mixture of tribal and
Bengali peoples with elements of Islam, Christianity, and Buddhism
clearly visible around the area. This place does not know what the
hell religion it is.

Below
is a Christmas message painted on a wall in Ruma. It reads: For
to us a child is born to us a son is given and the government is on
his shoulders. He will be called wonderful counselor, mighty God,
everlasting Father, Prince of peace. Pretty sure
that is a direct quote but I am no biblical scholar.

After
dropping my bag off at the guesthouse I had to register first with
the police, then with the military. I sat by a pond sipping tea at a
local kiosk while my guide worked out the particulars. After some
discussion I was required to write out a statement in my own
handwriting clearly stating that I would be traveling with only a
guide and did not require a police escort. Right. Nothing about that
might be of concern, right? Probably not. It was merely a 'cover your
ass' maneuver just in case something did happen to me…..probably.
As far as I know there have been no problems involving unrest in the
area recently so I was not concerned but still….

Fish paste. Num-num-nummy!

After
my liability waiver it was off to the army post for an introduction.
This involved nothing more than registering my name in a notebook,
shaking hands, and exchanging rapid fire smiles. So far so good.

Back
to my room for dinner. I was supposed to stay within the village at a
'hotel' right in the center. My guide suggested I stay at a different
place up on the hill as this would be less noisy. Although the price
was substantially higher I agreed. That was a mistake because I think
it was at that exact moment that he began to think me a person of
privilege (or should I say excessive privilege?).

Most
of what occurred was probably my fault for not having everything
spelled out exactly at the onset. I did not realize that in addition
to the guide fee I was also required to provide food for them as
well. That first night both my guides were present so Richie was
providing dinner for three. When I was told the price for the meal
they neglected to mention that the price would be tripled. No wonder
they kept shoveling food onto my plate. And although I must confess
that the deer meat served was delicious I get the feeling that such a
feast is reserved for special occasions: weddings, festivals,
visiting clueless white folk.

My
guide also failed to mention that he would be sleeping in the vacant
bed in my room. I couldn't care less but I have the suspicion that my
room rate was for a double. None of this came to light until I
received the bill the next morning. I considered protesting but I was
about to travel into the hills with a dude I barely knew in an area
where I was a complete stranger. I decided to tread lightly and take
the hit. Besides I was not entirely sure there was really any
subterfuge present.

I bid
farewell to the first guide who spoke English, and prepared for my
journey with the second guide who could barely speak any. Or should I
say second guides. At one point I was given the story that my
guide from Ruma to Boga Lake might not be able to take me to
Keokradang as he was not listed as an official guide. Lucky for me
his friend could accompany us and ensure passage from Boga Lake to
Keokradang as he was on the military's 'official' list. So now I was
paying for two guides instead of one, but only for a day….probably.
Awesome. And for some reason my lower back, which had been behaving
itself for well over a year, decided to revolt and unleash a not
insignificant amount of pain. Groovy.

And
then came the jostling for backpack dominance. My guides were dead
set on carrying everything for me but I was vehemently against it.
However, before I realized what they were up to one had my sleeping
bag and the other was hoisting my backpack. So that is how it began.

Not
long after departure we stopped for tea where I again regained
control of my possessions. The shoe was now on the other foot. Ha!!
My 19 year old chaperone was a bit dejected I think but he would have
his redemption.

The
majority of our walk was along and through a shallow stream which
required the use of sandals as opposed to hiking shoes. I knew we had
to cross a stream I just did not realize we would be constantly doing
so. More language barrier. For the most part the terrain was flat. It
was only the last half hour or so that required a fairly steep
incline to Boga Lake. Before we began our ascent we rested for a bit.
As we were about to set off again my stealthy scout recaptured my bag
and would not relent. I believe I really would have had to wrestle
the damn backpack off him. I was not pleased but pressed on. I guess
I would have to admit that it was a bit fortuitous as my back was not
cooperating.

My humble abode

Boga
Lake? More like Boga pond. My guide said something about it being
large and I just nodded in agreement. There was not much to the
village surrounding the lake and my accommodation was little more
than a wooden shack with beds in it. Not a problem but it was the
locals that really struck me. These folks, from the Bawm Tribe, were
not exactly the friendliest of sorts. That is not to say they were
unfriendly, just remarkably indifferent. I was not expecting a parade
in my honor but considering that very few foreigners make their way
there I was surprised to receive almost no reception whatsoever. Not
even the children were interested. I am sure part of it is the stark
contrast to the interaction I'd had with the Bengali population in
other parts of the country. These folks, on the other hand, could not
give a shit.

This
was more or less the reaction I was to receive during my time in the
tribal areas. I am not really drawing any conclusions. Maybe it's
cultural. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's the fact that these folks have
been marginalized and disenfranchised in a developing nation that has
been beleaguered by just about every domestic problem a third world
nation could face. I suppose I'd be grumpy too. You think the
Aborigines in America and Australia had it bad. Imagine being pushed
aside in Bangladesh. The truly sad thing is that they seem to have
put aside much of their culture as it is difficult to distinguish
tribal differences and villages are extremely nondescript.

I was
not wanting for sustenance. In fact I was a little surprised at the
volume of food put in front of me. Then again I was paying for every
item so I suppose there was some incentive to just go ahead and cook
it all. I am quite confident that the repertoire was not the common
every day fare. I was probably served enough food for five festivals
and a wedding.

After
our visit to the military guard post to check in I was asked if if
guide #2 should stay or leave. Huh? I was under the impression that
he was to depart that day after fulfilling his purpose. Clearly, he
was hoping to stick around and get another day's wage but there was
little justification for two guides I had no chance of communicating
with instead of just one. I played stupid and kept saying I did not
understand. Guide #2 left, disappointed I'm sure.

The
next morning we were off to Mt. Keokradong. After seeing the
Himalayas standing on the highest point in Bangladesh is just
slightly more exciting than standing on the highest point in your
kitchen. I was just a tad underwhelmed but the walk and the weather
were pleasant enough. After about twenty minutes on the 'summit' we
headed back to the lake. I was supposed to spend another evening
there but I saw little point in that. We were also supposed to walk
back the way we came but I opted for a one hour jeep ride back to
Ruma as opposed to a four hour walk. It was a pleasant walk but once
was enough. The jeep ride was worth a go just to experience the
'road'.

I
thought I was going to have to spend another night in Ruma but as
luck would have it I made it back in time to hop on a boat and catch
the last bus back to Bandarban. Yippie.

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